The search was still out there, and pop grew more global, not less. If you liked your coffee trade fair, how could you have a miniature Berlin Conference in your iTunes? These were all first world problems. Just how guilty were we supposed to feel about these stolen global influences, made by unapologetic and clean-cut white dudes, in our music collections? It wasn’t simply what “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” and “Under African Skies” sounded like, it was what they stood for.
Ezra Koenig was cast as the next-generation Brown Shirt in the war to exploit those genres, and those people, who didn’t have access to the A&R staff at XL Records. It’s no secret that Lord Huron’s Lonesome Dreams isn’t necessarily new territory - NPR’s Global Cafe cornered this market long ago, and Vampire Weekend, you could argue, ruined everything for everyone, becoming a reverent place-holder for all who used World Pop influences and an epithet for the long tradition of those who felt Paul Simon, being so openly and commercially derivative, tacitly supported Apartheid on Graceland. Trafficking in globalized pop that borders on the neocolonial, Lord Huron often sounds relentlessly worldly, like a lost indie rock soundtrack to the Lion King, or an Enya record that emerged from the post-Local Natives LA folk scene, or, most flatteringly, a 20-years-later Rhythm of the Saints tribute album. The truth, the right girl, the right sound, all of it, Schneider suggests, is somewhere out there. This search, like the record in question, channels both the aspiration and insouciance of chasing the infinite. The album is a record of wanderlust in form and function. It is a pretty and precious aside, a passing bit of commentary recast as a genre thesis statement. Ben Schneider of Lord Huron whispers, “There is a river that winds on forever, I’m gonna see where it leads,” the first lyrics on his debut LP Lonesome Dreams.
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